A song built from pain

I guess it’s more than fair to say that I’m a frustrated rocker. I’ve

got an A-minor bent that hooks along all the major chords.

I’ve been writing songs, mostly Christian worship songs, for about

20 years. I first played guitar when I was 17. In Brazil, my mom’s

native country, I started writing songs. As with most songwriters

that I’ve known, I was sure that my songs were better than anyone

else’s. Not everyone agreed, it seemed.

I learned journalism and became a reporter. I learned the Bible

and became a preacher. I still do both, with a heavy emphasis on the

latter. But every now and then, a melody jumps out from inside or

from outside in and it starts choking me. I have to let it out

somehow. I strum my guitar and start singing until I hit the right

note.

I don’t like U2’s Bono much, but there’s one thing he said once

that made sense. He said you write songs when something hurts. I

don’t believe that’s the only time you write songs, and it shouldn’t

be the whole focus of the song -- pain. Pain can inspire, but it

should be an arrow that points somewhere out of the pain.

Too many songs are just a memorial to pain -- people hear, cry and

empathize, but end up staying there. Music has the ability to point.

It’s gentle or not-so-gentle persuasiveness can point people to

something, somewhere, someone.

Since I’ve been in the Holy Land, I’ve written lots of songs.

Using Bono’s “something hurts” theory, a lot hurts over here.

One of the things that hurt me the most was the death of young

Mohammed Al-Durra a few years ago. Watching the death of the

12-year-old symbol of the Palestinian Intifada inspired me to write a

song, “An Angel Named Mohammed.” It was half Arabic and half English,

from the words of the wise King Solomon. It was played for several

months on one of the most popular Palestinian radio stations in the

West Bank.

Having lived in Gaza for a year and a half, a lot hurts here, too.

Almost half of the people are refugees who were driven from their

homes or lands in one of the many wars that have visited these parts.

What’s funny is that the thing that hurts the most is not

something that hurts a lot, kindness. The people are so kind. Against

the backdrop of CNN’s relentless depictions of Hamas rallies and

“there’s no room for songs about peace” coverage, this kindness

shines even more. Every foreigner I’ve known who has visited Gaza has

loved it.

Anyway, there’s a song that I’ve written about before called

“Salaam.” Salaam means “peace.” Most people will recognize the cousin

of “Salaam,” its Hebrew equivalent, “Shalom.”

I first heard the song Salaam about three years ago during a

home-church meeting near Ramallah. The song says, in Arabic, “The

peace you gave us is not like the peace the world gives. It lives in

us and it’s not possible that it fail. And because your spirit lives

in us, Your people are always at peace. Peace, peace to the people of

the Lord in every place.”

While strumming my guitar and singing it one day, I added some of

the names of the villages and cities of the Holy Land to the song.

For instance, I would sing “To Bethleham and Nablus,” and a group of

children would sing, “Salaam Allah,” which means “The Peace of God.”

The song was a hit with kids everywhere I sang it. As I sang it,

they would sing along. Every time I’d show up at a school or

kindergarten, they would ask me to sing “Salaam.”

One young boy in Gaza once told me, “You taught us ‘Salaam.’ And

not just us but all the Palestinian children.” I know that wasn’t

completely true, but it felt like it could be.

About a month ago, I finally took a group of kids in Gaza to the

recording studio to record “Salaam.” I had some help from one popular

local singer who sang some harmonies.

A few days later, as I was leaving church, a young man who works

at one of the most popular radio stations in Gaza came up to me. He

invited me to his work, which happened to be near the recording

studio.

On the way to the radio station, we stopped in at the recording

studio, and I had him hear “Salaam.” He liked it and said it should

be on the radio.

We took it to the radio station. I was invited for an interview on

the station a week later. A few days afterward, people started coming

to my job at the Gaza Bible Society and telling me they heard my song

“Salaam” on the radio.

It started happening almost daily. To tell the truth, I still

haven’t heard it on the radio, but people keep telling me they heard

it. I’ve even had people from as far away as the West Bank tell me

they heard it.

I guess it’s one of the greatest highs for a musician when a song

you recorded gets played on the radio. I’ve always wanted to touch a

lot of lives, and there are few lives that I want to touch as much as

the lives of kids in Gaza.

* HUSEIN MASHNI is a former reporter for the Daily Pilot who

covered education. He left to do mission work in the Middle East and

writes occasionally about his experiences.